


Lamarck

by genderfluid_pigeon



Series: Lamarckian Inheritance [1]
Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alcoholism, Gen, Major Character Temporary Death, Minor Character Death, Panic Attacks, Swearing, Weapon X program
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-03-18 15:09:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13684185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genderfluid_pigeon/pseuds/genderfluid_pigeon
Summary: They’d met in a bar, like all great romances. Everyone knows the story. Girls goes out alone for drinks and drinks a bit too much. Boy sidles up, all rough edges and sharp angles. Girl kisses him. Soon, they’re heading back to her place and she’s all too willing to touch every inch of him.---The team left. Once their scents faded skin knit back together on the daughter. Her heartbeat started with an unsteady thump before picking up it’s pace to that of which when she was sleeping. Her lungs drew in a shaky breath and that was that. She had lived through her first death.





	1. Prologue: A Boy Meets A Girl

They’d met in a bar, like all great romances. Everyone knows the story. Girls goes out alone for drinks and drinks a bit too much. Boy sidles up, all rough edges and sharp angles. Girl kisses him. Soon, they’re heading back to her place and she’s all too willing to touch every inch of him.

Normally boy would slip away in the morning regretting his choice, especially this boy. Unfortunately, for him, the girl woke up first. She got up and slipped his flannel on, breathing the scent of him in, and prepared breakfast. The sound of sizzling bacon woke him up. Next, the scents floated in her bedroom.

Logan woke up to the sounds of something frying on a stove and the smell of bacon. He shifted and turned from his side, looking for the woman who he’d slept with last night. He didn’t remember her name, and the alcohol wasn’t to blame. He’d enjoyed the burn of the whiskey last night, like always, but had felt no effect, again, like always.

The girl had been pretty, a few inches taller than him, and had had beautiful caramel hair with curls he’d loved running his hands through. She had one hell of a mouth too and a nice set of lungs. He had quite enjoyed his night with her and would be happy to leave it at just that, a single night. He had never thought of having more than one night but she was a nice girl.

More than one night meant things he wasn’t ready to commit to yet. More than one night meant secrets and wounds being ripped from him like his breath had been upon seeing the girl. He hadn’t felt that feeling in a long time so had decided her place was better than the back of the bar. He knew he could trust her though, something in his gut could trust her _that_ far.

Getting out of her bed he looked for his shirt and couldn’t find that or his pants. He could find his boxers however so merely dressed in those. Walking out of the bedroom with attached bathroom he walked into the combo kitchen and living room. He looked to the door beside the bathroom and saw his boots still where he’d kicked them off.

That drew his attention to the beauty wearing his shirt. He chuckled low in his chest and she turned to look at him, batting her eyelashes prettily. His shirt was, thankfully partially buttoned up but he had doubts if she was wearing anything beneath it. Some part of him was immensely proud of her wearing his clothes but he shoved it down for now. He would have to deal with that later.

“What’re ya makin’, darlin’?” He asked, accent thick for effect.

She looked at him for a second, lips pursed, before replying, “Breakfast. My Name’s Lu by the way if you were curious.”

He hummed and watched as she handed him a warm black coffee. She let the bacon cook while she stared him down. Raising his eyebrows, Logan took a sip of the coffee. He nearly groaned. He didn’t know what was in this coffee but, right now, it was a godsend. He took a deeper draught of it and Lu nodded as if she approved of him drinking her coffee. The thought alone made him amused, though he didn’t show it.

She placed the bacon on a plate with some eggs she had made earlier, it seemed, with some toast she got from who knew where, he certainly didn’t, and sat a plate down on the coffee table in front of the couch while she held her own plate on her lap. His eyes traced her bare legs and before he could form a proper protest he sat down beside her on the couch.

The couch let out a whine and she shot him a, dare he say it, _unique_ look. He barely glared at her and she rolled her eyes in response. What could he say? Having a metal coated skeleton added some weight to him. He blinked and ignored it. She gave an almost imperceptible sigh before doing that same. It probably wasn’t her place to question it.

Eventually, after all the food was eaten and two plates sat next to each other on the coffee table she asked the inevitable, “So, are we going to continue or are we never going to see each other again?”

Logan opened his mouth and closed it before he clenched his jaw, a muscle working something furious in his neck. He didn’t know. She’d been kind and caring last night. She hadn’t asked about the past or even looked at him weird when he’d been a bit _too_ delicate with her last night. She’d taken him as she’d known him, a gruff older looking man in a bar.

He let out a breath and took another drink of coffee and answered, “I don’t know. What do you want us to be?”

“I want us to be us, nothing more and nothing less,” Lu replied.

He looked her up and down, weighing his options in his mind. He could test the waters right here and right now if she ran then he would know. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time he had left an apartment without a shirt. If she freaked it wouldn’t be the last, or the first, time.

“You want me to be _me_?” He wanted her to reaffirm him, show him she cared, if only because he was a good lay.

“That’s right, be yourself, not many people are these days,” She answered promptly. Her back was straight with the confidence of those younger generations. She hadn’t faced war yet, and hopefully never would.

Holding his hand out in front of him he clenched his fist and his claws shot out after a second of concentration. After the years and years of bumpy fragile bone claws, he was used to the new, slicker, metal claws. The pinch as they slid through his flesh was just that, barely a pinch.

Lu, for her part, barely reacted beyond eyes widening some. Her hands shook as she released the flannel she had been worrying as she and Logan had begun talking and she reached out towards his claws. The tips of the claws were pointed away from her, lest she has any bad ideas. Her hand rested on his elbow for a second before slowing sliding up his forearm and resting on the back of his hand.

She looked to Logan, asking for his permission, and he nodded. Not many could stomach the claws so having her want to touch them was another matter entirely. With featherlight touches two fingers traced each claw, feeling the smooth metal beneath them. Her breath caught in her throat when she realized they actually tore through his skin. Shakily her hand came back to clasp her other one in her lap, which she was resolutely staring at. His claws slid back in his arm and his hand healed like it always did. Silence reigned between them as he struggled with something to say to her. It was quite the culture shock.

She was the one who broke the silence, after a few minutes, saying, “That must hurt, I’m sorry.”

Logan blinked dumbly for a moment before he began to laugh low in his throat. She looked at him as he slowly shook his head in mirth. Obviously, he found this whole thing _very_ amusing. She was sorry for him. Not because he was a mutant, and he had suspicions about that, but because it looked like it _hurt_.

Of course, he supposed, in the beginning, it had. He had had them, the claws, so long he had forgotten what it was like _not_ to feel them slice through the skin. The thought alone was almost foreign to him completely.  He supposed he should assuage her fears though.

“No, it doesn’t. Not the way you think. I’m old; a couple hundred years as far as anyone’s best guess. I, uh, I’ve had these claws so long I barely feel it,” He answered.

“But you do feel it,” she argued, “And it does hurt. I’m sorry. I’m also sorry people have reacted so bad that your big deal breaker is showing your claws. People are mean and cruel and very rarely fair. I’m sorry.”

Logan was able to see she’d become quite impassioned in her speech. He could tell she was quite passionate about her stance and she looked near to crying. He had two options, walk out the door and never look back or pull her closer and make her feel better. Well, the second she looked at him with her dark whiskey eyes, he had one option he discovered.

So, he turned towards her and carefully took her hands, pulling them to his own chest where, of their own accord, they spread out, pressing her palms against his chest. Still, she remained sitting next to him. Gently moving forward and guiding her forward by her shoulders, he pulled her into his arms.  

Her head awkwardly hovered in less than an inch off his chest. With an eye roll, and not a fond one, he held her close. He felt her relax beneath him even as she sniffled. Kissing the top of her head he finally introduced himself, “Name’s Logan.”

“Nice to meet you, Logan,” She mumbled against his chest.

“Nice to meet you too, darlin’,” He rumbled back.

* * *

 ****They continued their lives, which was pretty much the same except it seemed the Wolverine had finally settled down for good. He moved into her apartment and got a job in the bar they met, considering that was the one they frequented. One of them always had a smile when in the presence of another. They were a normal couple, for the most part.

Sometimes they argued over mundane things, like the color of the walls and if it cream or eggshell, and sometime it was over more serious things, like whether or not to get married eventually. Their stances were Lu with cream and yes; Logan took the opposing stances. It was more out of habit that anything else but they enjoyed the fights.

They both learned about one another in the following months and, eventually, years. Lu’s actual name was Lucena James and Logan’s was actually James Logan Howlett. They both preferred to go by what the introduced themselves as. Lu also learned about Logan’s nightmares quickly. The ways he would thrash and shout in his sleep worried her but she never pressed. What he wanted to share he would, that was enough for her.

One such night, about two years after they had first met his claws caught Lu in their respective sleep. They sliced through her shoulder and one caught her cheek. She woke up at the pain and sighed, getting up to go clean up the wounds in the bathroom. Her bare feet padded against the floor as she walked over to the bathroom.

Flicking on the light she flinched at the brightness but closed the door because she didn’t want to wake Logan. Wiping some of the barely leaking lazily blood away, Lu quickly pulled out some antiseptic. Spraying it in the claw marks she flinched but carried on as best she could. Next, cam wrapping the wounds. They weren’t deep but their position on her shoulder made them difficult to wrap with one hand. She silently cursed herself for not being ambidextrous.

As it stood though, she managed to wrap them well enough. Then she took care of her face. It was more of a scratch but she still sprayed it with antiseptic and put a piece of gauze on it. Head wounds would bleed like crazy. She knew that much from Logan’s various injuries, even if they did heal quickly.

Happy with how she had bandaged her wounds, she turned off the light and tried to sneak back to bed. She walked back into the bedroom to find Logan tracing some blood on the sheet of the bed with a thunderous expression on his face. She sighed and walked over to sit beside him. She went to wrap her arms around him but he flinched away and growled at her when she did.

Nodding internally she settled for resting a hand on his thigh. Her other hand ran its way through her hair. Logan properly turned to face her and he couldn’t meet her eyes. She knew then whatever was about to happy was bad. There were very few reasons he couldn’t meet her eyes and she had learned they all meant bad things.

Normally this meant something along the lines of Lu dying in a dream. She wasn’t a complete idiot. No one shouted her name like that unless they were losing her _permanently_. Those dreams though she normally coaxed him between her legs and held him and they were fine. It was the dreams where he roared himself awake that she was always curious about. That’s what she was willing to bet had happened tonight, the silent version of that dream. It wasn’t unusual after either of these dreams to have to replace blankets and sheets.

Tonight though, tonight, he didn’t react even as she caressed his cheek. She was beginning to get worried. He pulled away from her and her heart fell. He put both of her hands back in her lap and went over to the closet, pulling out his two duffle bags. Silently she watched as she packed them, her lungs in a vice grip. It was only once he finished one bag that she realized what was happening.

“Logan, _no!_ ” She cried as she stood and moved to stop him.

With barely a glance in her direction, he gently moved her hand out of the way and continued his packing. Tears gathered in her eyes and some leaked down her cheeks and onto her bandage. He still refused to look her in the eyes still.

“Logan, please, stay. You didn’t mean to, I know you didn’t,” She pleaded with him.

He turned, his rage at himself lashing out, and said, “So what? Next time I _will_ and you’ll, _god_ , I can’t even say it. _I can’t lose you, Lu_.”

“So you’re just _leaving_ me?” She sneered at him, some small part of her taking a defiant stand at him.

“I’m _protecting_ you,” He snarled as he zipped up his duffle bags, moving to get dressed.

“No, you’re not. You’re being a coward and leaving me. You know what? If you leave then _don’t come back_ ,” She growled at him, stalking out of the room to get away from him.

She perched on the couch and watched as he emerged from their bedroom fully dressed. He didn’t meet her eyes as he picked up a piece of paper and wrote a number on it before leaving out of the door, locking it behind him.

She waited until the sun rose, many hours later, to let out her first wail. It echoed in her empty apartment and she covered her mouth. She didn’t need any sound disturbance reports made on her. The tears hadn’t stopped the entire time she’d sat there and they didn’t stop for hours more until she finally cried herself to sleep.

The next month she got the most important news of her life, she was pregnant. Not only was she pregnant but she knew whose child it was, Logan’s. Without a second thought, she moved back to where she had grown up, a little over a days travel away. She would need help to get through this and the only help she could think of would be an old friend who became a priest.

His name was Hunter Lefebvre. She knew he would help her and he did. She got a small job to help Hunter pay rent but her heart was broken and they both knew it. The way she always looked out the window sadly portrayed that quite well. She knew she would never see him again. She still hoped though.

Her pregnancy went well, which was rather expected. She had no complications and gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Hunter, who had been there with Lu, suggested that the baby take her last name of James. Lu had laughed, as if it were an inside joke, and agreed. That was how Brianna Jean James came into the world.

Lu’s life fell apart after that. She lost her job and lost her apartment. She couldn’t take care of Brianna, who at two went by Bree. Lu did the hardest thing she never thought she would have to do. She gave Bree to Hunter.

The next twelve years of Bree’s life were spent living with Hunter. She knew her mom loved her, for she visited every year on her birthday, but it was from afar. Bree understood her mom could not take care of them both but loved her regardless. She was a happy child, always smiling and laughing. She grew up not particularly religious but she definitely believed in someone.

For her fourteenth birthday, everything came crashing down. No more façade of a perfect life. The Stryker division had found Bree, exactly the opposite of what Logan had planned when he left. They’d found her and were tracking her. They were patient, they could wait.

What were they waiting for? They wanted the mother and her daughter at one spot. They had missed their opportunity last year and were willing to wait decades if that’s what it took to get them together again. They were patient. They had to be when hunting down an immortal's loved ones.

The fourteenth birthday rolled around the Weapon X task force, or what was left of it, struck. When the priest opened the door his neck was snapped. There was no chance for him to shout as the tactical unit moved in and over his dead body. The mother received a bullet through the forehead just as the daughter received one through the heart. They both fell in perfect arcs backward.

The mother collapsed on the couch as the tactical leader stepped out and walked over to the girl. He put his fingers on her pulse point as blood leaked out of her wound with no real life behind it like there had been a moment ago. He waited a full five minutes before he said, “She’s dead. We’re good to go. One less Mutie child left on the Earth.”

The team left. Once their scents faded skin knit back together on the daughter. Her heartbeat started with an unsteady thump before picking up it’s pace to that of which when she was sleeping. Her lungs drew in a shaky breath and that was that. She had lived through her first death.

* * *

 

One border crossing and a few hours away Logan sat where he always did on days like this. Mondays were slow and boring and they often dragged on for what seemed like forever. Today though seemed to fly by to the point where he was relaxing against a bench looking at the sky, wondering things he shouldn’t have been.

Things like, what would his life have been like if he had stayed with Lu. He supposed they would have had children by now. He doesn’t know if he would have preferred a boy or a girl but both would have been good. In either case, he would have loved them with all his heart. He, of course, constantly debates with himself if he wants them to live as long as he does or die with their mortal brethren. He doesn’t think he’ll ever have an answer for that.

He takes a sip of his beer and raises it in a mock toast. All his love to long ago, eh?


	2. A Girl on Her Own

Bree woke up in a puddle of a liquid.  She was laying as if someone had just clocked her really good and she’d passed out from it. The liquid splashed slightly as she rolled and pushed herself into a sitting position. She nearly screamed but some innate sense told her not her. The blood was still slick and not dried. Her long brown hair was matted with it already and the thought alone made her sick again.

She looked at her mom and felt her heart freeze and stomach roll. She looked away after a second, squeezing her eyes shut to get the horrid image out of her head. She knew she never would. It would be seared into the closing of her eyelids for years to come.

Getting up she slipped on some blood and tried to remember what happened. She remembered singing “Happy Birthday” with her mom when someone had knocked on the door. She had heard the horrid snapping sound that just thinking about made her stomach empty itself onto the blood-soaked floor. 

Walking on unsteady legs to her bedroom in the Lefebvre house. There she grabbed the false bottom of her closet and removed it, grabbing at the stocked hiking backpack there. Hunter had always been paranoid, and so had her mom now that she thought about it, and insisted on her having a go-bag, that’s what she called it at least. 

Knowing it was the middle of winter, seeing as it was January fifth, she got dressed in her best winter furs. She and Hunter had practiced this too much. She couldn’t afford to think about them now. She got dressed and walked out the back door, shutting it and locking it behind her.

She took a deep breath and ran into the woods. The house was on the edge of the woods for a reason. She had to get to the cabin then she could freak out. She couldn’t stay here. She knew if she stayed there would be too many questions asked.  The first one was the one that terrified her. How was she alive? She didn’t have answers to any questions they would ask. She did what she could only hope was the right thing, she ran.

She paused at the edge of the forest to look back at her house only to see the beginnings of flames to start licking at the house. She wanted to scream and cry. This wasn’t  _ fair _ . Not only did they- not thinking of that, but they also burned down her  _ house _ ? God, she hated these men. She finally ran deep into the forest.

The forest was no longer the terrifying dark place it had been when she was younger. Her eyes adjusted to it relatively quickly and she was able to easily clear some of the taller logs by leaping over them. Her breath fogged the air up in front of her and her nose, cheeks, and fingertips were the first things to start to go numb. The backpack was heavy but she adjusted to its weight soon enough. It barely felt like she was wearing anything twenty minutes in.

As she leaped over the next log her boot caught the edge of it and she heard a terrible ripping sound and she cursed as she landed sprawled with a torn boot.  She could feel the cold seeping in and her foot went numb as she tried to fix the boot desperately. She knew it was a lost cause; the branch had caught the seam of the boot just right.

Getting up she tied a length of cloth around the boot to secure the best she could before she resumed her mad dash through the forest. Despite how heavy she was running she never ran out of breath. Her foot had began to go cold but after a few minutes she could feel the whole thing just fine. In fact, she could feel her fingertips and nose just fine too.

She had actually begun to get way too hot by the time she got to the cabin. Huffing, she bent double for a second to regain what very little breath she had lost. She fumbled with her keychain as she unlocked the door but eventually got the keys in the door and the door open. She went to take off some layers, seeing as she had only walked the last twenty minutes, allowing for some sort of cooling down. Still, she was baking.

She stripped down to her long sleeved undershirt and jeans and while initially being cold she soon warmed up. She frowned. There was no reason to be this warm in just a long sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans.

She got out her thermometer, a necessity of packing a first-aid pack in a go-bag, she took her temperature and discovered it was at well over the normal human range, forty-four degrees celsius. Her hands shook as she slipped the thermometer back into the kit. 

This was fine. She was fine. Well, she was living and it didn’t feel like she had a fever, not in the least bit, so that was good at least. Maybe whatever had allowed her to live was giving her this ability to adapt? Yeah, that could explain it. She walked to the trash can with the frigid trash bag in the corner and empty her stomach’s contents once again. 

Wiping at her mouth she observed the cabin critically. It was still the two room depression infested cabin she remembered. The main room, the one she was standing in had a corner made into a “kitchen.” Following the wall not connected to the door there was a fireplace in wall with a plush recliner  _ covered  _ in blankets in the corner. In the middle of the far wall there was a door to the bathroom which had two shower stalls, one with a bench, and a toilet. The water was probably freezing though. 

In the corner across from the recliner was a massive bed, about the size of two king beds, with it’s own veritable mountain of blankets and pillows. Beside that was a rack of dry food stuff and first aid kits. She knew in the shed attached to the cabin would be a charging station with a generator and fuel and plugs.

Collapsing against the bed on the floor she leaned back against it, her go-bag beside her. She let out a scream and grabbed at her hair. She kept screaming, knowing anyone who went by this cabin thought it was haunted anyways. She grabbed and pulled at her hair, screaming at the world. 

This wasn’t  _ fair _ . This wasn’t  _ right _ . She was only fourteen! How in God’s name was she supposed to survive? With her new abilities she doubted she could even die. She knew now why Hunter and her mom had always been so insistent that she be packed and ready to go. She was a mutant and had a terrible curse due as her mutation. She would be doomed to live forever with it. Eventually her tears and screams exhausted her enough so that she crawled beneath the blankets that felt warm already, despite the actual freezing temperature, and fell asleep.

When she awoke it wasn’t due to the cold, she was actually sweating even as nothing but her clothes covered her, it was because the sun had managed to somehow pierce through the  _ singular _ hole in the thick curtains in front of the windows and go right to her eye. She would have to fix that soon.

Groaning, she got up. She looked outside before she rolled back over and ignored the light.  She just wanted to sleep forever. She spent the next few days like this until her hunger drove her to eat a can of soup. For the most part though she ate her way slowly through the reserves for two months.

Eventually, around mid-March she emerged from the cabin, having finally grown too restless. She hadn’t done anything but grieve and now she shoved it down as she got dressed in appropriate enough, for her, clothing and went racing through the forest, looking for a thawed out stream. At some point she realized she had only come out during the past months to wash clothes and pick berries. 

It was whatever. She was  _ fine. _ That’s what she tried to tell herself at least. She  _ had _ discovered something interesting though. She never got cold or hot anymore. Her body would experience it for a few moments before it would adjust accordingly. It was very helpful during the winter, that much she was sure of.

There was still some snow on the ground. It would probably be the last of the season. She froze when she heard a distant sound of plane or jet engines. Looking up she could feel her vision sharpen and focused on the distant figure of a jet landing in a clearing. 

The closest clearing to her was about a mile away. Considering the size and shape of the jet it would be the only one they, assuming there was a person or persons on the jet, would use. She had a choice, here and now. See who was invading her territory in such a high tech jet or, her favored option, go back to her cabin.

She took a second to deliberate before she was crunching through the snow back to her cabin. Tightening the curtains and making sure no signs, bar her scent, she was there. The door even had the snow on the handle like it hadn’t been opened recently.

She waited in silence. She knew she would be able to hear the jet take off and fly away. She didn’t hear anything of the sorts though. Eventually, after straining her ears some she heard a group of people for there was more than three pairs of footsteps, judging by the sounds they were making. They came to her porch and she could hear them talking to one another. Quietly, she slung her backpack over her shoulder and opened the secret door in the far wall behind the bed.

“Jean, no one’s been here in months. Are you sure we’re in the right place?” A gruff male voice said.

“I’m sure. I know someone’s in there,” came a female voice, Jean apparently.

The door eased open without a creak and Bree leapt out and closed it just as quietly. She had made sure to keep this area clear of snow so as not to make any extra noise. 

She may be depressed but she was also paranoid. She knew she would have to run eventually. The men who had so systematically killed her mother and Hunter before burning down her house would surely take any slip or miscalculation would be her undoing. She was no idiot. They had come for her before they would come for her again.

She heard the lock break and she took that as her cue and bolted into the forest. She ignored the muffled curses from behind her as she leapt over a fallen tree. Soon, in the distance, she heard footsteps give chase. Her grin turned hungry. Let them chase her, she could out maneuver them all.

A pair of steps broke off from the group chasing her and picked up their pace. She cursed mentally as she risked a glance over her shoulder. It was a man taller than her, which wasn’t saying much. He probably stood about 160cm and he was  _ catching up _ . He looked like one of those wild men with his mutton chops and pissed off face.

Turning back to the forest in front of her, she slid under a log, coating her pants in snow along the way. She picked up her pace so that she was all out sprinting. Her legs worked furiously but eventually it wasn’t enough and a hand grabbed her backpack. Her scream got cut off when a hand roughly covered her mouth.

She furiously wriggled in the man’s grasp before she bit down on his hand as hard as she could. The man grunted but kept his arm in place as his other circled her waist and picked her up, hefting her over his shoulder. She went limp in his grasp, over his shoulder. When he pulled his hand back she watched in blatant fascination as the skin knit back together before her eyes.

She froze as he carried her back the way they had came. He was like her. He  _ healed _ too. Her hopes rose. Maybe these people weren’t all too bad? She hoped they weren’t. She vaguely recalled her mom talking about a group of people, mutants, called the X-Men? Was that right? She wasn’t sure. Looking at the man’s back she saw a large “X.” Well, either they were the X-Men or she just had been kidnapped by people with “X” in their name.

She relaxed against him as best she could as he walked to join the others. She would hazard a guess that the others had stopped walking because the only sounds she could hear was the crunching of snow beneath the wild man’s feet. With a huff she was lifted off his shoulder and stood on the ground in front of everyone.

Turning in a circle, she slowly absorbed all the people who had captured her. There was a big furry blue guy, a girl with red hair, a girl with dark hair that had a white streak through it, a darker skinned woman with white hair, and a guy with a weird visor across his face, not counting mountain man who had just carried her.  She crossed her arms and glared at them all, or tried to. It was rather hard when you were the shortest of the whole group and the next shortest person was the one who had just carried you like a doll.

“Whaddya want?” She snapped at them.

“Relax, we just want to help,” Jean, she remembered the voice from earlier, spoke, hands outstretched.

“Yeah, well help by leaving me alone,” Bree growled taking a step forward towards Jean.

The man with the visor stepped forward and placed a hand between Bree and Jean and said, “Look, we just want to help. We know you’re a mutant with the ability to adapt, as evidence by your current outfit. We know you left after an incident with your father, the priest. Just, come with us and we can protect you from whoever hurt your dad and his friend.”

Bree froze up. Her father wasn’t the priest. Hunter wasn’t even related to her in the slightest. She could work with this though. They didn’t need to know everything, just enough to satisfy them. She was furious with them but she needed them. Internally she cursed the fact she had only gone hunting a few times and never with a gun. She had only done bow and arrow hunting. She couldn’t hunt with the guns in her cabin.

She could deal with them if it meant protection. It was then she noticed what was said about her outfit and looked down. So, they had a point there. She  _ may _ have been dressed in, essentially, a tank top and shorts with a pair of s. Not exactly proper snow dress but what could she say it worked for her.

“Fine, whatever. Just, lead on,” She grumbled, folding her arms in front of her. 

Visor face nodded and walked off towards the jet. The rest of them circled her as they walked with the wild man behind her. This bothered her because his scent, now that she was bothering to expand her senses, was that of an animal’s. If she had to hazard a guess she’d call him a wolverine or badger.

The big blue guy was on her left with Jean and the other two women were on her right. They smelled like animals and, was that roses with a fireplace scent, respectively. The first woman, the one with the white streak in her hair, smelled like disinfectant and clean linens while the woman with fully white hair smelled ozone and petrichor, which soothed Bree some. 

Her “hackles” stayed up though as she growled low in her throat any time someone came too near to her on the walk there. For the most part, it got them to back off. Mountain Man or Badger, as she had decided to call him, seemed to like to get in her personal space despite her growling. A few times she turned to glare at him and had miniature staring matches with him to get him to back off.

They got to the clearing the jet was at and Bree stopped at the edge of it. Badger stood beside her and she was tempted to slug him, just for the hell of it. She resisted the urge though. She needed him for protection. 

“Where are we flying to?” She asked, an edge to her voice.

“What’s wrong, not a fan of flying?” Badger teased.

Petrichor leveled a look and said, “Like you have any room to talk, Wolverine.”

Bree could have cursed aloud. His name was  _ Wolverine _ and she had been calling him Badger. As it was though she huffed out a superior laugh aloud.

“I’m no scared of flying. I just wanted to know how long my naps going to be,” She sneered at Wolverine.

He rolled his eyes and mumbled, “Of course, my mistake.”

“It should be about an hour though, to sate your curiosity,” Petrichor explained.

She nodded and gave a toothy grin, more a show of teeth, in response. Bouncing up the ramp after the rest of them with Petrichor beside her she strapped herself in, after putting her backpack beneath her chair, and settled in for a nap. She had napped just fine on some trips in past years but she didn’t know how her enhanced senses would deal with the noise.  The jet took off with a high pitched whine that had her wincing. Soon though it faded out and the ride was smooth. Leaning against the wall, Bree fell asleep.

She woke up with a start and immediately lashed out at whoever was trying to touch her. A knife, hidden in her bra, was grabbed and she grabbed the person by the neck, coming at them with intent to kill.

Her eyes shot open as she rested the blade against, oh it was Jean’s, neck. Everyone was in various positions around them. Wolverine had  _ holy shit those were knives coming out of his knuckles _ . With a scream Bree dropped the knife and backpedaled as far away from the man as she could, shoving herself into a corner. She may be a fighter but she had seen him heal she wasn’t  _ touching _ that guy. She may be willing to duke it out but she knew she hadn’t a chance in any plane of taking him out.

She watched in fascinations a Petrichor and Jean assured Wolverine no harm had been down. She watched as Wolverine unclenched his hand and the knives slid back in. Huh, who knew? The Wolverine has big bad claws. She mentally shook herself and forced herself to calm down. Wolverine had barely spilled a drop of blood and here she was, cowering in the corner. Big Blue guy walked up to her and she growled at him, earning a chuckle from him.

“Yes, Logan’s mutation can be quite a shock for those who haven’t been warned wouldn’t you say?” Big Blue asked.

“Yea, it fan- _ freaking _ -tastic to have,  _ sudden steak knives! _ ” Bree grimaced before she rolled her shoulders and walked forward, intent on picking a fight.

“Hey, Wolverine!” she called, earning everyone’s attention. “Threaten every fourteen year old you come across with your claws or am I just a special case?”

Her grin was sharp and angled, despite her face not lending itself to that. She was pushing him, daring him. She wanted to see what he was made of, what would make him snap. She wanted to see what she could get away with and where she could get him to bend or, in some cases, break.

He glared at her before turning away and that was his first mistake. He didn’t want to fight her, fine. Too bad for him she wanted to fight him. She picked up her dropped knife and the smile on her face made several people step forward but not fast enough.

She threw her knife, just as her mom had taught her. The knife was aimed directly at his ear but she threw just a tiny bit to the left, hoping her skills hadn’t faded without much use. Luckily, for several people involved, her skills hadn’t faded.

The knife flew with great accuracy and  _ just _ nicked Logan’s ear as Bree said, “Hey, dickface! Did I say I was done with you?”

Wolverine turned to her with a furious expression on his face. She straightened from her position she had used to throw her knife, a smirk on her face. She had him where she wanted him. He took a menacing step towards her and Jean got between them but she weaved around her, a devil-may-care grin on her face.

“D’ya have a death wish,  _ kid _ ?” Wolverine sneered as he neared her.

She spread her arms and snapped, “Come at me, _ old man _ .”

Petrichor stepped between them this time and said, “Logan,  _ stand down _ . Brianna please don’t antagonize him.”

Bree gagged loudly as she heard her full name being used which caused everyone to look at her weirdly. Rolling her shoulders with a shrug she said, petulantly, “It’s  _ Bree _ . None of that Brianna crap.”

“Language!” Barked Wolv-Logan.

“English!” she snarled back. 

Big Blue stepped between them with a quiet growl. It was low and deep and it got Bree’s attention which, she supposed, was the point of it. Looking down she dug at the floor of the jet with the toe of her sneaker.  She noticed the ramp to the jet was down. Pointing her fingers and raising her eyebrows at the lowered ramp, she was rewarded with a nod from the Clean One. 

She grinned and bounced down the ramp only to find a bald man waiting for her in a wheelchair. She tilted her head at him, having not expected him. Nonetheless, she nodded at him while she bounced on her feet and waited for the rest of the group to join her.


	3. Girl Threatens Local Wild Man With Peanut Butter Jar

“Ah, Ororo, I see you were able to get Ms. Lefebvre here in one piece,” He said to Petrichor, who she guessed was Ororo. She idly wondered what language the name was based on.

“Not without our share of troubles. Bree here has quite a pair of legs. We also learned her mutation,” Ororo explained as the other formed a loose circle with Bree and the Bald Guy. Bree idly wondered how tall he was.

“Oh? Perhaps Ms. Lefebvre would like to explain to any who may not know?” Bald Guy asked, propping his chin up on one hand. If she didn't know better she would say he was getting kicks out of this. Even if she did know better she might think that.

Rolling her shoulders, she sassed, “It's like Darwin said: adapt to survive, right? Though it's honestly more like Lamarck. I need it, the faster the better, so I,” here she air quoted, “‘evolve’ it.”

Big Blue nodded from across the circle and introduced himself, “My name is Dr. Hank McCoy. Care to properly introduce yourself to us?”

“Yeah, alright,” she mumbled. She smiled at them like she would rather do just about anything else, which was true, she said, “Hello everyone. My name is Bree Lefebvre. Call me  _ Bree _ if you want to get an answer to me as I probably won't come to anything else.”

Going in the circle she was then introduced to Marie, Ororo, Jean, Professor Xavier, Scott, and Logan. She sneered at Logan from her position beside him and a low growl rumbled in his chest. Turning her nose up at him, she proceeded to ignore him. If he thought he was all that he would have another thing coming.

Ororo led her up through the bowels of the basement into a building they told her was a school and where she would be living. She sighed, she would never get out of school, would she? Ororo also told her they would give her placement tests to start her in her second semester of school before showing her a single bedded room.

“Normally, students would live in communal living quarters but given your past, we decided to give you your own room. You will have a monthly budget, an allowance, as long as you respect the rules and help out around the mansion. You may decorate this room as you please. The bathroom is ensuite,” Ororo explained, “We’ll see what loose clothes we have around here for the next few days until the weekend where we will take you shopping for clothes.”

Bree nodded before moving to sit on the bed and set her backpack down. She watched as Ororo shut the door behind her as she walked up and only then did she start unpacking. She had a few days of clothes, not that she was telling them that, and some personal effects before the entire pack became devoted to survival needs. Putting her clothes in the closet and beautiful dark wood dresser.

Pulling out the only three things she ever kept with her it was a picture of her mom and Father Hunter hugging around a four-year-old her. She sat this on the nightstand facing away from the door. Hunter’s grandmother’s engagement ring was next and it went in the drawer. Finally, there was a letter for her from her mom, unopened as of yet. It was dated at her eighteenth birthday and she would respect her mother’s wishes even if it killed her. It was all there was left to respect of her mom.

Sliding off her sneakers, she padded out to the kitchen area she had seen earlier. Everyone she had met with, along with some others was there and the two living rooms attached eating. She opened the one cupboard and grabbed some crunchy peanut butter and moved to grab the bread when a familiar metal claw shot out to block her hand. Everyone else had gone silent.

“Is there a problem,” she hissed at Logan as she turned to face him, “or do I have to beat you up with this peanut butter jar to get you to move?”

Logan rolled his eyes and said, “As much as I would love to beat you into the ground right now that’s not what I’m here for.” She heard someone sigh in relief,  _ several _ someones. “We’re giving you combat training. Be up by six and at the front doors by six fifteen. Don’t keep me waiting.”

His claw retracted and he walked away. Under her breath, Bree mumbled, “Sure thing, asswaffle.”

He turned as if he had heard her, and she stuck out her tongue in response. He sighed, took a deep breath, and walked away. She watched him go before she continued to make her sandwich. Putting enough peanut butter on her bread to make her chewing hard, she popped the top slice on. Putting her jar away she licked the knife off. it was just a butter knife so the possibility of getting a cut doing this was zero to none.

Tossing the knife in the dishwasher, after properly cleaning it, she grabbed her sandwich and walked outside. Sitting on a bench on a pathway she looked at the stars while she ate. She chewed silently as she traced the constellations in the sky. She heard, more than saw as her gaze was upon the sky, the Professor roll up. Looking towards him she was, once again, surprised how well she could see in the dim light.

“You did not tell them of all your abilities Ms. Lefebvre.” He introduced the topic of conversation, looking at her with concern in his eyes.

“Ah, I was wondering if anyone would catch my lie. You can keep a secret can’t you? I don’t want it known I can heal. Too many bad people in the world,” She said, popping the last bite of her sandwich in her mouth and chewing it.

“It is not my place to tell anyone though I must wonder if you are going to tell them your real name,” He said, seeming insistent on getting this topic answered.

She hummed noncommittally for a second before she responded, “I will, eventually. For now though? I will let them think a priest adopted me from a missing person.”

He nodded and folded his hands in his lap, shifting in his seat. He seemed to be chewing on his words a second before he spoke to her, something Bree appreciated. “What are the extent of your powers, right now?” he asked.

She opened her mouth to think for a moment before she closed it. Her sense had always been sharp. Her mom and Hunter had estimated them at about twenty times sharper than a human’s, if they were being conservative. She thought about how she would explain this.

“I have sharp senses, we don’t know how sharp, and as it stands I know I cannot be affected by cold. Beyond that,” she tossed up her hands in a shrug.

“I see,” he said, lapsing into silence.

She idly swung her legs back and forth while she waited for him to speak or leave. She didn’t care which. After a few minutes later, he rolled away. Stretching across the bench she laid down and began to name the constellations to herself until she was tired. Only then did she retreat back to her room, waving goodnight to some of her “teachers.” Dr. McCoy even got up to hug her. She was stiff in his embrace but she appreciated the thought. She fell asleep quickly in the embrace of sleep.

She woke up when her thrashing caused her to fall off her bed. She knew what the dream-nightmare was about. They were all about the same thing. Over and over, again and again, _ that night _ would play through her head. She never knew if she screamed or did anything besides thrash about in her bed. All she really knew was that she barely got any sleep some weeks.

Opening her bedroom door she peered through the dark and saw a dim light coming from the kitchen. Padding down to it she saw Logan currently immersed in a bottle of beer. She paused in the doorway and he looked up at her before he snorted, “Come to gloat and be all superior, princess?”

She shook her head and sat across from him, folding her arms and placing her head on them. She didn’t speak, she merely stared at the table. She was taking deep measured breaths to calm down. She couldn’t afford to freak out right now. She was practicing just shoving it down.

“What’s got you all freaked out? Here I thought you were some big bad ass who was ready to take on the world,” Logan jibed at her.

She rolled her head to the side to level a baleful glare at him. He sighed and answered his own question, “Yeah, you’re right. Why should you tell me? Well the truth is you probably shouldn’t. I just drink to try and forget everything.”

She sensed the light that ignites in her eyes and she knew he’s probably going to regret saying anything. She reached her hand, one of them, out for the bottle and his eyebrows shot up, trying to become a part of his hairline. After a second he shook his head. She glared at him, all anger and hard lines. He sighed again, she knows it now, she’s won.

He slid the half-empty bottle over and she sat up, taking a drink. She grimaced at the taste but the feeling as it slides down her throat is a delicious burn she doesn’t think she can get anywhere else. He got up to

* * *

get another one as she continued to sip her drink.

They didn’t speak. They barely looked at one another while they nursed their respective bottles. Bree was still trying to get the loud  _ Bang Bang _ echo of gunshots out of her head. It suffocated her being until she can feel the bangs wrapping around her very soul and her own hand ached with the effort of keeping the gun straight. Eventually, it quieted and dulled. She can’t tell if it was the time away from her hellish dreamscape or the alcohol working. She couldn’t bring herself to really care either.

What she didn’t notice as she finishes the bottle was how tired she is. She barely felt her eyes drooping before she’s passed out on the table, across from Logan. Her dreams turned to happier things for the first time in months. It must be the first time in months she has done so, not that she would know.

When she woke up she was in her bed. She was tucked in and it confused her. How had she gotten here? Last she remembered she  was drinking in the kitchen. Embarrassment flushed over her and she felt like screaming. How  _ dare _ he put her in bed like some, some  _ infant _ ?

She could feel the anger bubbling beneath her skin and she wanted to punch him for all she’s worth, which she just might do. She could have stayed where she was, if only he weren’t such an ass. She threw offer her blanket, intent on giving him a lecture. It’s then she remembered she had “training” this morning.

With a curse as she checked the clock, she was dressed for running and exercise and out the door in three minutes flat. She arrived just on time, 6:15. She was happy she had gotten up with five minutes to spare. She was still going to kick Logan’s ass though. Huffing, she stood in the doorway of the front doors. Logan joined her after a moment, looking surprised she was there.

“Ready to go, teach?” She sassed him, rolling her shoulders.

He rolled his eyes, replying, “Five mile run with me, come on.”

He started out the door and with nothing else to do, she followed. She was really learning to hate him.

* * *

 

Logan had to admit, he wasn’t all that surprised when he saw the girl slinking into the kitchen. What  _ had _ surprised him was the lack of screams beforehand. He knew not many people would be nightmare free after going through what she went through so to have her screams already silenced worried him. He knew how bad a dream had to be to give someone the look the kid was giving him right now.

She looked like he did, too much like him. Her eyes were dead and her face was stony. She made no real movement beyond laying her head on the table. He didn’t think he’d want to know what her dreams were about even if he could make an educated guess. He had enough of his own, in any case.

So, when she begged him for his bottle, he gave it to her. He knew he shouldn’t but he had had enough guilt over her life so far. He’d left Lucina and in the end, someone had still got to her and killed her. He would never forgive himself for that. Then she’d apparently adopted Bree here with the priest and they were a happy family.

Then  _ his _ past had come to haunt  _ them _ , or that was what was assumed. He barely remembered some, if any, of his days in the Weapon X program. He remembered pain and that was pretty much it. He knew they gave him the metal on his claws and in his bones and he knew that they were still operating. No one had any proof of anything, of course, so they were resigned to letting them continue with their work.

The Weapon X program  _ had _ attacked them though. The house had been burnt to the ground by the time anyone had got there, a disposal method the program used. Only two bodies had been found though and the remains had been identified as Lucina James and Hunter Lefebvre. Bree had been missing for months until Chuck identified a signature in the woods.

They had landed and learned the kid was  _ smart _ , a genius even. She hid her tracks and fooled even his nose when they went to the cabin. The problem was, you couldn’t fool a telepath without heavy training. Then he was running after her and she learned she had one hell of a pair of legs. The way she expertly weaved through the trees reminded him of himself, even if he knew that was impossible.

When he got to her she fought like her life depended on it, which is very well might have, but was unsuccessful. The way she fought and hissed and spat at them all didn’t affect him too much. He recognized grief when he saw it and spending months by yourself as a fourteen year old right after an incident like that certainly wasn’t the healthiest thing for her to do. Even he knew that, which was saying something.

Then there was the way she threatened him with the peanut butter jar. He had to admit, she had guts. He would have loved nothing more to then and there deck her but he knew more than a few people were watching so he had retreated to the Professor, looking for advice.

“Logan, let the girl deal with her grief. We all deal with it different ways,” Chuck had explained.

“Yea, we do but do y’see anyone else threatening me with  _ peanut butter jars _ ?” He asked, his arms crossed in irritation.

“I think you might have met your match then, Logan. Give the girl a chance. Train her for a little while and then see. You never know what might be revealed,” Chuck threw over his shoulder as he wheeled out leaving Logan alone to his thoughts.

So when the girl appeared and begged for his bottle he handed it over. He knew if anyone found it he’d get one hell of a lecture but it was his peace offering. He knew in the daylight they might never get along but in the night who said the rules had to be the same? Not him. He could tell she was more than her anger with the way she stared him down. She was a haunted soul and, damnit, he would make sure she didn’t experience anything else.

When she fell asleep it was nearing three in the morning. Finishing his own bottle in a few swallows, he threw both of their bottles away. That left him with Bree, the girl. He looked her up and down and knew if she stayed there she’d be woken up in two hours while all the teachers got up, some earlier than others.

He took a deep breath and gently eased one arm under her chest to one armpit while the other grabbed the other. Easing her up, he leaned her against his chest ever so slowly to make sure she stayed asleep. Some small part of him wondered why she hadn’t attacked him yet. He filed that thought away for later consideration. 

Her arms came up and he flinched, expecting a knife to the throat, but instead they wrapped around his neck. Shifting his hold, one hand at a time, to her thighs he felt her wrap her legs around him. Sighing, both internally and externally, he carried her gently up to her room.

This presented the next challenge. Carefully prying her off of him, he pulled back the blankets and laid her in her bed. He realigned the mattress and tucked her in. Nodding at his handy work, he closed the door behind him and went to his own bed.

He woke up like he always did, heart racing and a snarl on his lips. He checked the time and sees he has enough time to get ready and get to the girl, if she bothered to get up at all. She will probably continue to sleep for many hours. He sighed as he wandered down the hallways and was mildly surprised to see the girl there.

They’re relationship had shifted last night, to what he wasn’t certain but he knew by the way she snapped and snarled at him this morning it scared her. He supposed she had every right to be scared though. The only people she had truly left in were buried six feet under and she probably didn’t know where they were just that they were dead. 

He had attended the funeral. It had been closed casket, naturally, and he had gone by himself, even despite everyone’s insistence someone go with him. He was a goddamned immortal, who could touch him? It was a small private affair, only a handful of people showed up. He had been the last one standing there in the near freezing rain as it pelted down on him next to his lost love’s fresh plot. He can’t remember if he cried.

So, while he preps this girl, Bree, to face her attackers head on next time he can’t help but feel this is all for Lucina. He will run this girl into the ground and fight her until she can’t stand. He will have her memorize more plants than she would ever need. She would never again experience loss if he had any say in it, and he did.

So, they began their run. He set a brutal pace, knowing her mutation will likely adapt to it and he wasn’t wrong. He sees her begin to huff and puff before she grew used to it and came level with him. He flashed a grin back at her, baring his teeth, before he takes off, leaving her scrambling to catch up.

He knows he’s pushing her a bit too hard. He knows he’s being an ass. He just can’t bring himself to care. Give her someone to hate and take her emotions out on, his mind seems to say, and maybe you can get something beyond petulance and anger. He knew it meant being an asshole but he could do it, quite easily in fact. 

He had plans of pounding her into the mats after this. He knew she likely didn’t have any combat training so beating her would prove quite easy. He knew she needed to be knocked down a few pegs and that would be a perfect way to do it.


	4. Losing to a Two Hundred Year Old Man in a Fight

When she emerged from the gym to drag herself to her room for a shower before her school testing began she could feel the bruises and soreness already forming. She knew it would fade in a few minutes and already her legs were feeling less and less like jelly as she climbed out of the X-Men base beneath the school.  _ That _ was the gym they were using apparently.

She hated Logan and the first chance she got she was shoving a knife down his throat. Losing once wasn’t enough. Nor was five or ten or even  _ twenty _ times losing enough. He made her lose  _ fifty _ times before he allowed her to leave, which sucked. Three flights of stairs later and Logan’s death was looking more and more likely. He had  _ forbidden _ her from using the elevator, the asshole.

Thankfully her body felt like normal by the time she turned on her shower for a quick thing to rinse all the sweat and general gross feeling off her body. The water pressure was amazing, something she missed since she lived in the cabin. She sighed and then set to work, she only had an hour to do everything she wanted.

Finishing her shower, she quickly got dressed and set about managing her hair. She had forty minutes left. She quickly bound downstairs and grabbed a bowl of cereal, wolfing it down like it was the last thing she would get to eat. To be fair, her body was used to treating food like that so she treated every meal like her last. It had probably resulted in some nasty eating habits ut no one was around to mock her for it so she didn’t care.

Finishing with twenty minutes to spare, she moved to the couch and sat in the corner, relaxing into it. She had been on the move or stressing all morning. Sure, it wasn’t even nine in the morning yet but she felt she deserved a break. It wasn’t like she was going to fall asleep anyways. Before long she was passed out on the back of the couch, catching up on some lost sleep. Everything was fine. She was  _ mildly _ content and sleeping. This was good.

It was  _ fine _ until someone rested their hand on her shoulder. She jerked awake and threw her knife in one movement, leaping back and away from the person. She went to shout some, shall we say,  _ not nice _ words when she saw it was Ororo waking her up. The knife was currently embedded in the wall beside Ororo. She had had the wherewithal to dodge at least. Bree silently praised the woman gave a grimace of appreciation.

Bree opened her mouth to apologize and Ororo waved her off with, “I should have known, especially considering your reaction on the jet to being woken up. I accept the fault for this.”

Bree’s mouth shut with an audible snap and she nodded, grunting in agreement as Ororo beckoned her to follow, saying, “Come, I doubt you wish to deal with these tests any longer than you have to.”

Bree let out a huff and grumbled, “You could say that again.”

Ororo shot her a smile. Bree responded with a glare. She hated happy people. Of course, she hadn’t  _ always _ hated happy people but now she did and that was all that matter, in her own opinion. Ororo seemed like a nice lady though. Bree could probably grow to stand her.

Bree was lead through a maze of hallways to a door that had the sign “Professor Xavier, Principal” outside it. Raising a brow she was surprised to see Ororo just walk right in. That was rude but, hey, what did Bree know?

Walking in she was surprised at how spacious the office was. It was massive with a beautiful oak desk setup, with the Professor behind it. There was a row of student desks against the right wall while the left wall was covered in bookshelves that were chock full of books and some knick-knacks.

Bree made her way to the desk with several tests sat upon it and flopped down on it. She barely listened the boring explanation given to her by the Professor, which he undoubtedly noticed, before she began the tests in earnest. They had broken the test up into two days so she was happy for that.

The first round of testing was ridiculously easy to her. The sciences and math came to her so easily that she actually chuckled out loud at some of the “harder” problems. These were so easy she could have solved them years ago, let alone now. 

She finished early like she knew she would. Instead of telling the Professor though she put her head on her desk and proceeded to take a nap. Screw getting another test early, she was taking them according to their original schedule.

She awoke with a start. Her eyes flew open and one hand flew to her last, hidden, knife. She wasn’t so much startled but surprised she felt no urge to kill anyone like she normally did. Sitting up she saw her tests had been taken and the Professor was waiting for her expectantly at the door. Catching the hint, she stood and made her way to him.

They walked back along the halls for a few seconds before a “bell” went off, even though she didn’t see any bells or speaks  _ to _ go off. She guessed it was some sort of telepathic thing. The hallway was immediately flooded with students, which was  _ very _ bad. 

See, she had been only in the teacher’s and graduated student’s areas, not the main areas. Seeing all those kids and getting all the sensory information and hearing all the noise was overloading her senses. Her eyes watered at the bright colors and the scents overpowered her. The noise made her ears ring something terrible as she stumbled over to a corner.

Pushing her back into the corner she collapsed on the ground and pulled her knees up to her chest, covering her eyes with the heel of her palm and clamping her fingers over her ears. She was trying to block out the noise because it  _ hurt _ . God, did it hurt. She could feel thick salty tears forming in her eyes from the pain but she refused to let them fall. She would not be, be,  _ weak _ again.

Someone, (multiple someones?), crouched down by her and tried to move her but she lashed out in fear. She was  _ safe _ in the corner. No one could get behind her and she could take anyone who came at her head on easily. Eventually, after several sliced fingers from her knife, they stopped trying. She merely sat there as the sounds receded and her sense calmed down.

That was one part of her powers she detested. Some adaptations were deemed “permanently necessary,” for some reason. She didn’t understand why they would be deemed that but they had never been a problem before. She had been homeschooled for her whole life so her hyper-aware sense had never caused her problems. Now though, now she had faced her first problem with strong senses.

Uncovering her eyes and blinking in the  _ brightbrightbright _ light. She squinted as a headache slammed into her. Gently standing and using the wall as a brace, she began to walk back to her room. Her stomach was  _ much _ too upset from her overload debacle to even contemplate eating. She didn’t even notice the adults watching her with sadness in their eyes, for most of them, and anger in their eyes, for some of them.

She stumbled a few times but she refused to show weakness. That’s what emotions were, right? Weaknesses. They could be exploited and abused. No, she wouldn’t show any from here on out. She needed to be  _ perfect _ if she wanted to live. No more breakdowns in the hallway and certainly no more crying sessions. _ She. Was. Not. Weak. _

She walked in her room and shut the door, collapsing against it. She may not show emotions in public but she could show them when there was no one but herself present. She let the tears fall as she sat against the door. She didn’t bother wiping them away but she  _ did _ make sure to keep them silent. No use in making noise to alert someone to it.

Someone knocked on her door and she snapped, in a surprisingly clear and  _ not _ sad voice, “Fuck off.”

“No can do, midget,” was the reply from the last person she’d rather see at this point, Logan.

“Oh go fuck yourself,” she snarled, shoving herself off the door she opened the door and went, “ _ Whaddya want?” _

She was beyond caring if anyone saw her crying. She was beyond angry now. Her eyes may have been rimmed with red but she was ready to  _ tear him a new one _ and not much could do anything to stop her. She hoped he had a damn good reason for disturbing her because she was going to throw herself at him this time. Thankfully, he was by himself.

“You know we won’t hurt you if you asked us for help, right?” he asked, pointedly ignoring the tears, for now.

“I don’t  _ need _ help,” she snapped, voice cracking as a few fresh tears leaked out of her eyes.

“You’re sure about that? I mean, not to be rude, but you kinda ran off before we could make sure you weren’t hurt after cutting several of us, might I add. We just want to make sure you’re fine, physically. We can work on mentally tomorrow” He observed none too bluntly.

He didn’t even see the first punch coming. She brought back her fist and slammed it into his nose as hard as her barely five-foot-tall self could manage. She heard a satisfying cracking noise as he reeled back with a roar of pain. She distantly heard people start to run towards them.

Sweeping his feet out from beneath, something he had been doing to her but hours earlier, she pushed him by his chest to the floor. He fell easily, too easily, but she was too furious and overall emotional to care. When he didn’t immediately sweep her feet out from underneath her she didn’t notice.

She fell onto him anyways, straddling his waist. She pulled back her fist again and punched him over and over, not caring how much it hurt her hand. She was  _ pissed _ at him at the world and most importantly at herself. She didn’t  _ want _ to worry anyone because she didn’t need anyone getting too close. The last people that got close ended up dead.

She continued to hit him, over and over, until a firm pair of arms circled around her armpits, heaving her off and away from Logan. She hissed and spat at such an action. The arms carried her away from Logan in into her room.

“You need to calm down, Bree,” a voice said, she recognized it as Dr. McCoy’s.

She struggled for a few more seconds before she went limp in his grip. He released her and she walked over to her bed and sat down. She said, “You can go now. I won’t hurt anyone else. In any case, he had it coming.”

“Bree, you cannot solve all your problems with your fists or violence,” he lectured.

She sighed and shook her head, saying, “Worked so far for me. Listen, I just-I want to lay down. I’m not hurt or anything but I’m just really tired.”

Dr. McCoy nodded and went to pat her. She flinched away and his hand went back to him. He walked out, making small talk with the other adults in the hallway. Everyone was deciding what to do with her and she was trying to ignore it. She knew from the way they were talking it wasn’t the best options.

“What do we do with her? She just had a panic attack before beating the snot out of Logan, no offense,” Scott murmured.

“I  _ let _ her beat me up. Kid needs to let off some steam. I’m happy it was me and not someone else. Now, how about we move where she can’t hear us ‘cause I’d bet my claws that kid in there has super senses,” Logan said.

There was a shuffling and her door was closed, for which she was grateful. It allowed her to collapse back on her back on her bed. She looked at the ceiling and pondered that question.  _ What do they do with me?  _ She asked herself. The answer wasn’t immediate like most things were and even as she later prepared for bed, having skipped dinner hiding in her room, she didn’t know.

When she woke up from her next nightmare it was to someone shaking her as she screamed. She didn’t think when she lashed out and scratched their eyes or even as they let go with a curse. She rushed to her bathroom to empty the contents of her stomach. She hadn’t had a nightmare that bad in a week, an accomplishment on her part.

Her body shook as nothing but bile came up. She heaved for a few seconds before a glass of water was shoved in her hand that wasn’t clutching the toilet fiercely. Taking it she took a drink.  She hated being so weak. Here she was, trembling and weak against the floor of her bathroom at some god awful time of the morning. Why couldn’t she have lived a normal life with a normal family?

No, she had to be cursed. Stupid healing ability. Stupid want to survive. That was the problem though. She didn’t  _ want _ to live. She wanted to die. God, did she want to die. The world it seemed had other plans though. She hated it. She hated her very existence and wanted it to end.

A hand came to rub her back and she arched into the touch. She knew she needed someone to help her right now, as much as she detested the idea.  Leaning her forehead against the toilet she sighed and rinsed her mouth out with the water she had been handed. Sighing, she closed her eyes and relaxed after holding out the glass to be filled again.

It took longer than she was expecting but soon she felt her hair being lifted up off her neck and a cool rag being placed there. She sighed happily at the nice coolness against her neck. She heard the person helping her shuffle behind her before crouching beside her.

Cracking an eye open, she was surprised to see it was Logan crouching beside her. She went to say something but ended up heaving into the toilet again. He sighed and rubbed her back soothingly. She felt like punching him, just to prove a point, but she’s barely able to sit up and do anything as it stands right now.

Eventually her stomach settles enough to let her get a few words in and she chose them carefully as she said, “Why are you here?”

“Beyond being the only one brave enough to come in your room when you’re screaming like that? I’m the only one who might understand it,” Logan replied, standing back up.

She snorted, “Yeah right. Listen, just leave me be for now. I’ll be fine.”

This earned her an eye roll from Logan who replied, “Yeah, sure thing.”

He got up and left her alone. She waited to hear him walk out the room and close the door before she gently laid herself down on the floor of the bathroom. Her aching body against the cool tile feels amazing. She sighed happily, relaxing into the feeling of it. Eventuall,y she fell asleep there.

When she woke up she’s, once again, surprised to see she’s tucked into her bed. There’s light peaking through the curtains, more light than there would be at six in the morning. Fumbling with her shirt as she flops out of her bed, she struggles to change into running clothes. Sprinting down the hallway and doing the stairs two at a time and almost falling on her face several times, she was out the door and starting her run.

Stumbling back into the mansion, she hurried down to the gym only to find Logan waiting for her. She put her fists up, ready to fight, when he shook his head. She lowered her fists in question and her eyes spoke it for her.

“Kid, you were sick last night, take it easy for a day,” he explained.

She grunted and charged him, swinging her right fist out at him in a clearly telegraphed move. He dodged easily and swept her feet out from beneath her as she passed him. Collapsing face first into the ground, she let out a grunt. Her arms came up to push her up and a boot in the center of her back made her freeze. She couldn’t get up with how roughly he was pushing her down so she relaxed into the floor.

“Kid, I’ll say it one more time. Take it easy,” Logan semi-threatened.

With a snar,l her leg lashed out and knocked his other leg out from beneath him. Stumbling back, and allowing her to stand, he snarled like an animal. They came together in a flurry of fists and grunts of pain.

By the time they were done both were bruised and battered. They both knew they would heal. Logan didn’t know Bree would though and he  _ had _ gone a little rough on her. At some point his claws had slipped out and nicked her cheek. The cut was already healed but the small smear of blood that had leaked out was still there. They were both sitting across from one another on the mats or laying, in Bree’s case. The last spar had ended with her falling flat on her back and she hadn’t moved beyond to bitch at him.

“Like, screw you, old man,” she snapped, “You’re  _ how old _ ? And you just beat up a fourteen year old for the hundredth time in two percent of the days.”

“Shut up, kid,” Logan replied with no real heat behind it.

“I’ll shut up when I die,” She promised, picking up her hand to point to the sky in exaggeration.

“Sure thing, kid. That can be arranged,” Logan grunted, pushing himself into a standing position.

“Oh, it already was arranged. I’ve died before. Of course, I didn’t  _ stay _ dead but, hey, what can you do?” She “joked.” She lay there, thinking a second, before she realized why it was so quiet and what she had just said. 

Scrambling to her feet on shaking legs, she bolted into the mansion, Logan chasing after her. She didn’t want any pity and she knew that’s what she would be getting from him if she stopped and stayed still for a second. Racing up the stairs, taking them three at a time without missing a beat, she sprinted to her room.

The sound of Logan’s heavy, if quiet,  _ thud thudding _ feet behind her encouraged her to heave her window open. At this point, she was in beyond a panic. She didn’t even look out the window before she leapt out. Behind her, Logan’s hands closed on thin air as she leapt down.


	5. From Girl to Weapon

Logan groaned as his hands closed on thin air. He couldn’t get downstairs fast enough to catch her so he resigned himself to watching her run into the forest by the mansion. He knew he would need to track her down but he also knew, judging by her scent, she was panicking quite intensely. Some time alone might be best for her to calm down. Heavens knew touching her freaked her out worst last time.

He shut the window with a snap. He locked it and walked out of her room or that was his plan. His eyes barely caught a glance of a photo on the nightstand, turned away from the door. It had a picture of Lucina, his Lu, and the priest, Father Lefebvre, hugging a younger Bree. The picture reminded him of those family photos you see in holiday cards. 

He felt a seed of doubt wriggle its way into his mind. Bree could be Hunter’s child by Lucina. That’s certainly what it looked like. He felt something akin to true anger, the kind that made him blackout in his rages, slither up his throat but he pushed it down. It was none of his business who was who’s child. Besides, he left  _ her _ so he supposed she deserved any happiness she could get and if having a child by someone else made her happy then that was that.

He picked up the photo though and looked at it closely. He could barely recognize Bree in it. She was smiling so widely it looked like it hurt. She had no dark circles around her eyes and her hair was pulled back in a sensible ponytail instead of hanging limply around her face like it did now. It was no mystery what happened but some part of him ached for the child that had been lost.

He thought of the Bree they had now as he walked out of her room and towards Chuck’s office. She was all sharp angles and harsh words. He didn’t think he’d seen her smile once. Grimace? Yes. Cry? Also yes. Thinking about it, he paused in the stairway, he hadn’t seen her express any true positive emotion in the three days he’d known her. Admittedly, it wasn’t that long of a time but even Marie had smiled at him before now.

He sighed and went to knock on the Professor’s door only to receive a “Come in,” before his fist ever touched the door. Right, telepaths were annoying. Sometimes he forgot how annoying they could be and right now he was definitely feeling that annoyance.  Opening the door, he found Scott, Hank, Ororo, Marie, and Jean all waiting for him in the office. He sighed. He had a lot of explaining to do, didn’t he?

“Yes, Logan, you do,” Chuck said.

Logan sighed and crossed his arms before he said, “So, what does everyone know?” He licked his lips in a nervous habit he had been forming ever since he had heard Lu’s name in the report before their last mission.

“We know that Bree ran away and you were the last person she was with,” Jean supplied.

Logan sighed and relayed what had happened. He told the tale of trying to get her to take a break and her refusal. He told of her attacking him and her confession before her spike of panic. Finally, he told of her flight from the mansion and how she’d ran into the woods.

Jean sighed and shook her head and went to say something but was interrupted by Marie saying, “Should we go after her? Ah mean, she’s one o’ us, isn’t she?”

They all nodded but it was Scott who said, “Of course she is but the question here is would be going to her right now do more harm than good? I mean I don’t know about you but if I told someone that and then ran off I wouldn’t want people coming after me.”

The Professor quieted them all with a raised hand for silence. They all turned towards him and awaited his thoughts on the subject. Logan shifted on his feet. He had a feeling he was about to get the lecture of a lifetime and he knew it was  _ at least _ a little bit deserved. The Professor said, “While I wish Miss Lefebvre had shared her healing ability with us, any of us, I can understand her reluctance. We will allow her two hours to calm down before Logan and Hank will go retrieve her from the forest. Also, Logan, you and I must talk alone once everyone leaves.”

Everyone blinked at the request at the end. Logan nodded, “Kay, Pr’fessor, you got it.”

The conversation then turned to weekly staff meeting duties like who was in trouble recently and who had been given detention. Things like who would be supervising the detentions and who would be working what classes next week if anyone was sick were also organized along with some potential new students. Eventually, everyone shuffled out of the office leaving him and Chuck by themselves.

He didn’t sit when a chair was politely pointed out to him. He declined with a wave and a head shake instead of doing so verbally. Sue him, he was curious about what Chuck had to say.

“Logan, I have reason to believe Bree is your daughter,” came the beginning of the conversation after a short lull where everyone left the room.

Logan blinked, “What makes you think that?”

Chuck sighed as he leaned back in his chair and said, “Lucina James contacted me one hour before she was killed. She talked to me of her daughter whose father, when described, sounded a great deal like you and your former military division would be coming to attack her. I asked her what proof she had and she had no concrete proof beyond a suspicion.”

“I told her I would dispatch a team the next day, it being close to midnight here and her having not proof. I, however, did set an alert that woke me up not two hours later informing me of her untimely demise in a house fire with her daughter. You see, Bree is not a Lefebvre. I told that lie to make sure you wouldn’t scare her away. She may very well be your daughter.”

Logan reeled back in shock. He couldn’t believe he had a  _ daughter _ after all this time. He had left her alone by herself too. He was a horrible father. He nodded, swallowing thickly at Charles, and made his way to the kitchens, ignoring everyone he passed on the way.

Grabbing a beer from the fridge and walking outside, Logan made his way to a bench he frequented when he wanted to think like he did now. With a grunt, he tore the cap off the neck of the beer and tossed it in the trash can beside the bench. He took a swig of it as he thought over all his interactions with Bree.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard a distant scream,  _ Bree’s _ scream. Without a thought, his beer was abandoned as he raced into the forest. His feet crunched on leaves. He knew that scream from his distant memories of war. It wasn’t a good scream, quite the opposite in fact. It was the scream of someone who thought they were going to die or lose the most precious thing in their lives.

He caught her scent a couple hundred meters in and followed it. He focused on it so that the scent and the screams getting closer was all he focused on. He heard gunfire join the shots followed by a scream of rage.  _ That _ he recognized as coming from him. Lucina had been all about peace, never war. Her screaming stopped and the forest went silent.

He let out a furious growl and ran harder, his feet pounding something furious against the forest floor. He looked up as he heard a helicopter taking off. He was too far away to stop it or do anything to try and stop it and he cursed his slowness.

He leaped into a clearing and was greeted with the shot of two men on the ground, one bleeding heavily. Sighing he walked over to the knocked over one who  _ wasn't  _ bleeding. Rollin him on to his back he heard the man groan loudly but was wholly knocked out. Patting his face in an attempt to rouse the man all he received in response was a groan of pain. This was, probably, due to the broken jaw he was sporting, among other things.

He moved to the next man, the one with the puddle of blood around his torso and head. He swallowed roughly and hoped Bree wasn’t hurt anywhere near as bad as these men. Rolling the man onto his back he drew in a sharp breath. If he didn’t know better he would say the man had been attacked by him. Three claws marks scored his face before continuing down his chest in true slasher fashion.

He felt for a pulse. Sighing, he released his grip on the man and let him fall limply back to the ground. He moved back to the knocked out man and hefted him in a fireman’s carry position and set back on his way to the mansion. He hoped Bree was alright but, if his guess was right on their uniforms, Weapon X had just captured her.

* * *

 

She woke with a start when she became drenched in cold water. Gasping, she shook her head to try and get the water out of her eyes. She froze. Gently, she shook her head back and forth. Those  _ bastards _ had cut her hair! She turned back into the world as she heard the man who had thrown the water on her ask, “You alive there, Weapon?”

With a snarl, she threw herself forward, off the wall and towards the bars of the cell she was in. He smiled and said, “Good, we’ll need you to be awake for the next procedure.”

Her manacles caught her before she hit the bars of the cage. Her wrists pinched painfully against the metal as the man walked away from her into the hallway and out of her sight. She turned around and looked at her cell.

It was about ten feet by fifteen feet.  Against one wall there was a metal bench, supposedly a bed, with a bucket at the foot of it. Two guesses what that was for. She sneered at it. Turning around, she found out she had a manacle on her right wrist and left foot. The long chains were long, allowing almost full movement around the cell. She wouldn’t be able to go within a foot of the bars though.

Sitting down on the “bed” she looked to her knuckles and was wholly unsurprised to see there was no lasting damage from her claws that had shot out of her hands earlier. She remembered her rage and need to lash out and her body had supplied her with an answer, claws. She remembered screaming in fear and pain as they had extended when she had punched the man and the way his flesh had slid apart when she’d pulled her hand down. It made her sick thinking about it.

She didn’t dwell on that though. She summoned up some rage and used that as she ran and pulled herself away from the wall, towards the bars of the cage. The manacles bite into her skin and tear at it but she ignores the way it hurts and continued to pull until something gives. Unfortunately that something was her wrist. She slipped free of her manacle and caught herself with her other arm.

Groaning quietly in pain she reset her wrist toitss normal setting place. She felt her body heal it in seconds. She sighed, looking at her ankle. There was no way she was getting that out this time. Picking up her wrist manacle though she lightly bit at it, testing its strength. Her jaw seemed to cry out at her to stop, so she did. The metal was strong, stronger than she was that was for sure.

She got on the cot and curled up against the wall. She couldn’t deal with this right now. She didn’t want to deal with this right now. She couldn’t sleep though because soon they would need her awake, apparently. She didn’t know what they would be doing but it certainly wouldn’t have been pleasant. Uneasily, she thought over all the times she had been mean to everyone at the mansion. She had stabbed at them and shouted at them, mostly Logan.

She had to admit, if this was how she was going to be remembered she was beyond sad. She couldn’t believe she had been so rude to them. Well, she could but she didn’t want to. She was still struggling with her grief. She felt like she was stuck in that day over on a loop. She wanted to get better, now that she thought about it. 

She actually hated being so mean and rude all the time but what could she do? Nothing, that was what she could do. She was shackled to a wall in a prison cell, in her best hopes, god-knows-where with the people who had tried to kill her last time. She would know, she never forgot a scent like that. He had smelled disgusting the first time around and was no better the second time.

Eventually, five men came back to her cell. It was then she noticed she didn’t have a door that looked like a conventional one.  One whole wall of her cell, of which there were two that were not solid cement, retracted into the floor, much to Bree’s surprise. They stepped within her range and Bree lunged, turning and leaping off the bed.

Her fists clenched and she felt the bones tear through her hand and the first man never saw them coming. She slashes across his throat and blood sprayed her face, momentarily blinding her.

That moment was all they needed. A high pitched whine sounded and her joints locked in place. Her entire body went rigid, right in the middle of wiping the blood from her eyes. She felt panic crawl up her throat as pairs of arms picked her up and laid her on a rigid surface before carrying her  _ somewhere _ . She couldn’t see due to the fact that she couldn’t move her hand covering her eyes. The smell, given that she was able to breath, was antiseptic in nature with an undercurrent of the same metal in Logan’s claws. She hated to admit it but, she was scared. No, beyond scared. She was  _ terrified _ .

Her arms were forced to her sides before they were cuffed to the stretcher she was on. Her mouth got a mask that blew that “laughing gas” at her. It made her woozy with the amount they were pumping into her lungs. It smelled like cotton candy. She could feel her mind relaxing into a stupor.

Her body finally relaxed out of its rigid state and they put a tight mask on her, also pumping high amounts of that, that,  _ funny gas _ . She giggled lazily as she was lowered into a tub of water. It didn’t burn her eyes after a second. She could actually see quite clearly in it, in fact.

Hands grappled with her body, arranging her in a cage of sorts. Some part of her mind was screaming at her to get up and run while she could. It was quiet though. Most of her mind was to busy laughing at the bubbles she made when she breathed the funny gas in behind the mask they had place on her face.

Her hearing was weird underwater but the red flashing lights and loud sirens caught her attention. She began to struggle but was pinned but the metal rack,  _ cage _ , she was in held her tight. She screamed and a flurry of bubbles escaped from the mask, momentarily distracting her gass addled brain.

That was when they struck. Needles dug into her body, all over her body. Her legs, her face (the parts of it not covered by her mask), her arms, and her torso all had needles digging into them. She was held in place by them as they drilled to her bones. She tried to thrash but it only made it hurt worse. So, she stopped her  _ voluntary _ thrashing but he body still jerked and moved, trying to alleviate her pain. She wanted to sob and cry but couldn’t.

It didn’t stop there though. Fire poured into her bones and settled there, coating all their surfaces. It burned her and made her ache like a sore muscle but a thousand times deeper and worse. She screamed as her back arched and thrashed to get away from the boiling  _ hothothot _ water. Her voice gave out as her thrashing dislodged her mask. 

Water flooded her lungs as she coughed. True panic enveloped her for the first time.  _ She’s actually going to die _ . Her vision goes dark and she fades out to the sound of alarms blaring distantly but the pain never stops.  Will it ever stop?

* * *

  
They stare down at the girl. She can barely be called a woman if at all. Calling her a girl is the most apt term. Her vitals have stabilized, even as she doesn’t have any oxygen mask. Gills on her neck flutter and work to get the oxygen rich water through them. They’re fascinated by them. Weapon X never developed this well a need to survive. She’s a step above and beyond.

They toast to themselves as they put her in a stasis tube, loaded with all sorts of tranquilizers for her. They’ve officially created the perfect one. A weapon that will always survive. That’s what important; the weapon getting up again and again, never halting or ceasing to destroy people, places, or things in it’s way. They christen her, Weapon X-2, for she is the second generation and second one with claws. Maybe, this time, the weapon will act according to plan and not go rogue. Maybe this time will turn out just like the last. Only time will tell if Weapon X-2 even survives and reawakens. If it does the world will change for the better.


End file.
